


Still

by tvlerblack



Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: I guess it's still kinda h/c??, I wanted to write some h/c, M/M, instead I ended up with this, just not the fluffy kind, post-GRR
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-28
Updated: 2018-04-28
Packaged: 2019-04-28 21:31:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14458158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tvlerblack/pseuds/tvlerblack
Summary: Seth was furious.





	Still

“This is _bullshit_.”

Seth was furious, white-hot; he paced across the locker room, footsteps creating a restless staccato that resounded off the walls, his hair a wild dark cloud around his face. Color burned in his cheeks. His foot struck his bag once and he kicked it, viciously, sending it skidding over the stone floor until it hit one of the lockers. The Intercontinental Title was safely folded on the bench, apparently forgotten by its current holder.

Roman watched, arms crossed, face impassive. He was furious, too, but it was a cold fury, like shards of ice lodged deep in his heart. He remembered the sudden, almost deafening sound of the steel breaking from the cage, the sound of them crashing to the floor, the muffled thud when he rolled off the seething sweat-slicked mass that was his opponent and his back hit the floor, and the ringing of the bell, distant but terribly loud, terribly _final_. He remembered hearing the ring announcer’s voice, unable to make out what he was saying at first, until the shock began to ebb and he realized they were announcing Lesnar as the winner.

_And still…_

“It’s fucking _bullshit_ ,” Seth fumed, running a hand roughly through his hair. “They screwed you. Both feet have to touch the floor, those are the rules of a steel cage match, aren’t they? They went on and on about it, didn’t they? Lesnar was on the damn cage. You touched the floor first. A dumbass technicality, but those are the _fucking rules_ , aren’t they? ‘Controversial,’ they called it. Fuck that. You’re the rightful champion. And Lesnar’s walking around with that title, acting like it means something, like he’s earned it, like he’s earned a single goddamn day he’s been here. It’s _bullshit_ —”

Roman reached out and grabbed Seth’s wrist. Seth whirled around to face him, brown eyes blazing, almost challenging, challenging Roman to agree, to let show his own rage and frustration and disappointment. He looked fiercely beautiful like this, all tension and pent-up aggression ready to boil over at any moment.

“They screwed you,” he repeated, throwing the words in Roman’s face, and his tone was a challenge, too, imploring Roman to just _say something_. Roman hadn’t said anything since he found Seth here in the locker room, had stood still and silent as a stone as Seth raged.

Roman still didn’t speak, and confused flitted across Seth’s face. He tore his arm out from Roman’s grasp. “Don’t you give a damn? After everything, everything you had to go through to get here, how hard you’ve fought for this, to lose like _that_ —”

Roman grabbed him again, this time by his sweatshirt. He pulled Seth close and spun him around, shoving him back toward the wall. He lifted Seth up off his feet so Seth, on instinct, wrapped his legs around Roman’s waist just as his back hit the cool concrete. He uttered a little gasp, gripping Roman’s shoulders, his eyes wide. Roman’s face was still totally calm, but his breath had quickened, forming a discord with the heavy rhythm of Seth’s own breathing. Roman pressed closer against him, fingers stealing beneath Seth’s shirt to feel the heat of his flesh. Roman’s own skin felt like ice against it. He submerged himself into it, feeling the savage chaos of Seth’s emotions in that heat, in the pounding of Seth’s heart, in the rapid rise and fall of his chest.

He kissed a trail down Seth’s neck, open-mouthed and slow and deliberate. He felt the moan that shuddered through Seth’s body vibrate beneath his own skin. He lifted his head to capture Seth’s lips, devouring the sound.

He pulled away, tasting the soft breath Seth let out as they parted. Seth looked at him through hooded eyes, gripping Roman’s vest tight. He looked even more beautiful like this, taut and trembling ever so slightly, hardly able to hold himself together. It was a stark contrast to the frigid stillness inside Roman, rage and hate a blackness around his heart that seemed to have weight, stifling, choking him, swallowing him.

“I’m going to take that title from him,” he said at last, his voice low, steady. “I’ll take it if it’s the last thing I do. Just keep being the top champion around here, and wait for me. I’ll catch up to you.”

Seth took a moment to respond, studying his face. “You’d better,” he said, and claimed Roman’s mouth, rough and hungry and desperate. That was all it took for the stillness to break, for that cold blackness to surge into red searing heat to match Seth’s own, and Roman kissed Seth back with equal ferocity, hands groping beneath Seth’s shirt, needing to taste him, feel him, possess him, to be lost in him, so maybe, just for a little while, Roman could feel in control, could feel right, could feel _whole_.


End file.
